


Queening

by annabagnell



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Birthday, Cats, Furry, M/M, Mpreg, Parentlock, Sherlock is a cat, but not the way you think, shapeshifting cats by way of maaaaaaaagic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 08:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12406890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabagnell/pseuds/annabagnell
Summary: “Gestation length for servals is seventy-four days,” Sherlock informed John one morning, tearing into his bacon sandwich.John’s brow furrowed and he looked up at Sherlock, sipping at his coffee. “Thanks for that tidbit,” he said. “What, are we expecting a litter?”





	Queening

**Author's Note:**

> LOOK. I'M SORRY.   
> I'm not really. I enjoyed writing this, it's just...a bit different. Forewarning: Sherlock is a shapeshifting serval (African big cat) in this fic, able to get pregnant and deliver cat/human hybrid babies.   
> I swear to god I'm not a furry. I just wanted to write Sherlock as a cat, and this is what happened. 
> 
> (Also, upon hearing the title I chose, Songlin gave her input: "yas queening" and I needed to publicly shame her for it.)

After everything else John had experienced in his life, he barely batted an eye when Sherlock revealed that not only did he have ears and a tail, but that he could shift and become fully serval if a situation warranted it.

 

He did bat an eye when Sherlock demonstrated.

 

It was a bit like watching a magic trick - John’s eyes didn’t quite know where to look when Sherlock shifted, so it was rather like his brain just skipped over the weird bits and started working in real time once the transformation was over. One second, Sherlock stood in front of him, tail flicking, and the next there was a three-foot-tall cat with big, round ears staring up at him with icy blue eyes.

 

“Do I pet you, or what?”

 

Sherlock padded over and rubbed against John’s leg, closing his eyes and purring. He wrapped around John’s thigh, weaved between his legs, and leaned heavily against the doctor, butting against his hand with his forehead until John reflexively scratched behind his ears. The purring doubled in volume and that long black tail wrapped sinuously around John’s leg.

 

“Heh. I suppose this makes you an even bigger bloody cat than I already made fun of you for.” Sherlock just tipped his head to get a better angle for scratches.

 

————

 

“Gestation length for servals is seventy-four days,” Sherlock informed John one morning, tearing into his bacon sandwich.

 

John’s brow furrowed and he looked up at Sherlock, sipping at his coffee. “Thanks for that tidbit,” he said. “What, are we expecting a litter?”

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John, and the doctor’s heart skipped a beat. Sherlock’s ear flicked back and forth, and he took another slow bite of his sandwich, staring John down. “We’d better start getting ready,” he said.

 

“You’re kidding.” John set his coffee down, and cursed himself - there were no ripples in the black liquid to bely a tremor. “Sherlock, are we really? Are you —“

 

“Queening,” Sherlock said, a smile growing on his lips. “You can barely tell, but I knew when I woke up this morning. It’d have to have been…mmm, two weeks ago or so. In bed, I think. How romantic.” He sips his tea.

 

John pushes his chair back and takes clumsy steps around the table. “Show me,” he says, eyes glued to Sherlock’s middle. The serval rises fluidly and tugs his shirt from his trousers, turning to the side.

 

There’s a bump. He strokes a hand over the newly tight skin and smiles at John. “Our kittens,” he says, and a thrill runs up John’s spine.

 

Sherlock has never purred so loudly as he did when John kissed him.

 

————

 

He grows remarkably fast. By John’s estimates, they have another eight and a half weeks or so to prepare, but it’s hard to tell exactly how things are going to work because, as one might imagine, the amount of research done on human/serval reproduction is roughly equivalent to zero.

 

Sherlock’s serval-ness grows more prominent week by week. As the kittens get bigger, he naps more, stretching out on the sofa with his growing belly poking up underneath the blankets. He demands more pets and scratches, and positively purrs with delight when John scratches and rubs his belly. His nipples start to get puffy and sensitive, getting ready to provide kittens with colostrum.

 

The serval largely goes clothes-less as the days go by. John can’t say he blames him - it’s hard enough finding clothes that accommodate his tail, and it’s impossible to find any that accommodate a growing bump.

 

They set up a nursery in John’s old bedroom. Sherlock sits on the floor, belly prominent on his middle, and watches John set up twin bassinets. They don’t know yet how many there are - something about Sherlock’s condition defies diagnosis with human technology - but they know there are at least two, maybe three. They can’t estimate by his size, either, because they don’t know whether the kittens are more like Sherlock or more like John, or are entirely serval as Sherlock was when he was born. It’s hard to predict anything. Regardless, they’ll be able to double up in bassinets for a short time if they need to.

 

————

 

“What would you like for dinner tonight, love?” John asked, mussing Sherlock’s hair affectionately as he put his breakfast dishes in the sink. He was planning to stop by the grocery on his way home from work and make something nice for dinner - Sherlock’s appetite was increasing along with his size, and sandwiches (their usual for dinner) weren’t quite cutting it for the serval anymore.

 

Sherlock’s ears flicked and he tipped his head into John’s hand. “Steak,” he said. “Thick, juicy steak, barely warmed. Mmm, a few of them.”

 

John’s eyebrows crawled off his forehead and he looked at Sherlock. “Having some cravings, are we?” he asked.

 

Sherlock dragged both hands over his swelling bump, his tail flicking. “I’m a carnivore growing carnivores. I need the protein. I finished the pork chops off for lunch yesterday.”

 

John’s hand, which had paused in its scratching, resumed briefly as he resigned himself to buying out the beef section in the grocery that night.

 

————

 

Sherlock estimated he had another four weeks to go. His belly was round and full with their kittens, which twisted and tumbled inside him at all hours of the day. John could feel them now, which only made things more confusing. Were those hands? Feet? Paws? Tails? Neither John or Sherlock could tell, and neither could count the number of bodies that rolled around in Sherlock’s belly.

 

Sherlock, the poor thing, was growing uncomfortable. As it stretched, his womb started tugging at muscles that really weren’t designed to stretch far distances, and as a result his spine smarted when he spent any amount of time on his feet. At the same time, laying down didn’t bring much relief, because his sheer size pulled at his spine until it was curved past the point of comfort. Looking at his mate, John really wasn’t sure if he had four weeks left in him.

 

They laid in bed after a large dinner, which had put Sherlock in something of a food coma. The carnivore really had gorged himself, so now his stomach was uncomfortably full in addition to the other aches and pains of his pregnancy. John laid behind him, arm looped over his side to rub at his full tummy in the hopes of bringing some relief.

 

“I think five steaks might have over done it, love,” he murmured, feeling Sherlock’s taut skin strain with every breath. Under his arm, a kitten shifted, pressing its hard spine against John’s forearm. Sherlock groaned and clutched his belly.

 

“I was _hungry,_ ” he replied thickly. “Five steaks looked _good._ ”

 

John put a little pressure on the serval’s stomach, pulling another groan from Sherlock. “They might’ve looked good, but I don’t think they fit very well,” he quipped, rubbing the tight skin soothingly.

 

“I know,” Sherlock said morosely. “Smaller meals, more often. I’m going to have to change soon.”

 

John agreed, then stopped. “Hmm? Change? What do you mean, love?”

 

“Into a serval,” Sherlock said, twisting to look at John. “I think that’s how I’ll give birth. I think they’re more kitten than human, so it’ll be easier that way. And I think it’ll be easier to be serval the last few weeks…this is wreaking havoc on my human system. I think my spine’s going to split,” he said, laying a hand on his lower back and pressing down to demonstrate.

 

John laid his hand next to Sherlock’s and rubbed softly. “I honestly hadn’t even thought about that,” he admitted. “I guess I was just picturing you having them like this. As a human. Ish.” He stroked Sherlock’s tail.

 

Sherlock shrugged. “I could do it this way, if you really wanted me to,” he said, but was clear from his tone that he didn’t like the idea.

 

John shook his head. “No, no. If you think being serval will be easier on you, then that’s the smart decision to make. No reason to keep you like this if it’s really uncomfortable.”

 

“I can probably last another week,” Sherlock said, grabbing John’s hand and dragging it to rest on his full belly.

 

“If you’re more comfortable changing, do it now,” John replied gently, running their joined hands over Sherlock’s stretched middle. “Or whenever you want, really. There’s no deadline for it.”

 

Sherlock was quiet for a few minutes. He broke the silence with a short purr. “I’ll wait until I can’t stand it anymore, and then I’ll say goodbye to you and change. Once I switch, I’ll have to stay like that until they’re born, and for awhile after. If they’re kittens, I’ll probably stay as serval until they’re weaned. It could take…a long time, John,” he said, rolling over with a grunt and a wince to face his mate.

 

“Hey.” John took Sherlock’s hand and squeezed it. “You’re doing what’s best for our babies. I’m not going to be upset with you for it. I want you to be comfortable and for them to be healthy. No matter how long it takes. Okay?”

 

Sherlock smiled, leaning forward to kiss John. “Okay.”

 

————

 

Sherlock waited until John got home two days later. He greeted his mate at the door with a sad smile, and John knew it was time. “Hello, love,” he said, dropping his bag and wrapping Sherlock in a long hug. His mate’s belly, heavy and round with their offspring, was pressed firmly between them.

 

“I don’t think I can wait any longer,” Sherlock said sadly when they pulled back. John’s gaze traveled from the serval’s head to his feet, lingering on the swell of his belly, the painful curve of his spine, and the bags under his eyes.

 

“I don’t think you can, either,” John agreed, shrugging off his coat and toeing off his shoes. “Do you want to do it now, or have dinner first?”

 

“I don’t think I can wait any longer,” Sherlock repeated, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. John nodded and stepped forward, enveloping his mate in another long hug. He felt Sherlock trembling this time, and a tear ran down John’s cheek.

 

“I love you,” John murmured, kissing Sherlock’s cheek, then his lips. He fondled Sherlock’s ear between thumb and forefinger, looking into his mate’s eyes. “I love you.”

 

“I love you, too,” Sherlock replied, kissing John back. His canines dragged over John’s lower lip and his eyes were damp. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

 

“I’ll take care of you,” John promised, and stepped back. When his eyes re-focused, Sherlock was in front of him, sleek and black and purring as he stepped forward to lean against John, butting his hand and asking for scratches.

 

————

 

As a serval, Sherlock seemed much more comfortable. His belly was as big and full with kittens as it had been in his human form, but this body was much more equipped to handle the strain than his other. The kittens had more room to grow and move, and Sherlock’s movements were much more fluid and easy than they had been for weeks. John wished that Sherlock had changed sooner, but he was also thankful he’d had his mate for as long as he had.

 

The big cat took to napping on the couch after dinner in the evenings, with his long body draped over John’s lap, belly-up. He was, if possible, more hungry for belly rubs than he had been before, but John didn’t mind. He could spend hours with his hands in that silky fur, rubbing over the fullness of his womb where their kittens grew. Sherlock, for his part, rarely ceased purring when John was rubbing his belly.

 

As Sherlock reached his last week of pregnancy, from their calculations, his body started to prepare. His belly hung low and full, fur sparse as skin stretched over the kittens that were almost full-size. He only ever moved to eat, drink, or use the litter box, and even those tasks seemed like a strain. John figured he’d go into labour any day, and officially took his leave from the clinic.

 

Sherlock’s milk wells had filled and dropped, and his nipples were peaked, ready to nurse kittens. It seemed like his belly grew bigger with each day, and he swayed side to side when he did heave himself up to walk. The area beneath his tail grew red and inflamed.

 

The heat box was ready, packed with blankets and pillows and a lamp over top to keep Sherlock and the kittens warm. Sherlock still preferred to lay in John’s lap, belly-up - but not for rubs, anymore, but because any other position put too much strain on his spine. He shifted constantly, searching for comfortable positions. John cradled the big cat in the crook of his arm, stroking his head and scratching his ears and trying to comfort his mate in any way he could. They both waited for their kittens to come.

 

————

 

“Gestation length for servals is seventy-four days.” Sherlock’s voice echoed in John’s head as John crossed off day seventy-nine on the calendar. Of course, they could have miscalculated, but every inch of Sherlock’s body screamed that it was ready for birth.

 

The cat had awoken John in the morning by pawing at his arm. John awoke and sat bolt upright, searching Sherlock for signs of labor. Sherlock shook his head and rolled onto his back, wiggling and flicking his tail. He held his front legs up, and John realized what he wanted. He picked the big cat up with a grunt and carried him to the litter box, where an extremely uncomfortable Sherlock waddled in to relieve himself.

 

He moved heavily and slowly out of the box when he was finished and laid on the floor at John’s feet, looking miserable. The cat heaved a sigh and looked up at John miserably. “I know, love,” he murmured, kneeling to scratch the cat’s head and pat his belly. “They’ll come soon. You can’t get much bigger than this.”

 

Sherlock slept in John’s arms all day, belly-up and shifting constantly. He tolerated John’s belly rubs intermittently. His body was so stretched and full that any touch could turn from pleasant to uncomfortable in a second’s breadth. John dozed, woken by Sherlock’s constant shifting only long enough to murmur platitudes to the overdue cat.

 

He was woken at half six to the feeling of Sherlock squirming to roll over. The cat let out a yowl and moved off of John’s lap, which in and of itself was very out of character. John was about to ask why he hadn’t just asked to have been carried to the litter pan when he connected the dots.

 

Sherlock was standing, back hunched, with a small glistening bag at the lips of his vulva. He shook minutely, his rear legs spread. “Sherlock?” John asked, and Sherlock’s ears and tail twitched.

 

Sherlock yowled again and turned to face John, butting his face against John’s hand and then walking past him, rubbing his neck and shoulders and back against John’s palm. He stopped when John’s hand rested on his loin, above the dramatic curve of his belly where their kittens waited to be born. John stroked a hand down his distended side, scratching the tight skin softly, and Sherlock purred. It was time.

 

The serval paced for awhile longer. His back and belly swayed side to side with the bulk of their kittens. He yowled every few minutes during contractions, standing with his spine hunched and his tail quivering. The bag of waters emerged bit by bit, jostled by twitches of his tail.

 

At half seven, the big cat waddled to his box and laid down. John followed him, staying close even though he knew the serval could take care of himself. He petted Sherlock’s head softly until Sherlock nudged his hand away. John nodded and kept his hands to himself, murmuring encouragements.

 

Sherlock never seemed to get comfortable in the box. He would get up, circle around and lay back down, lift his rear leg to lick at his inflamed vulva, then curl up only to repeat the whole activity two minutes later. Finally, something seemed to change and the cat tore the water bag open, releasing a small flood into the box.

 

He looked up at John, ice-blue eyes locking gazes with John, and leaned forward to lick the tip of John’s nose. If cats could smile, the expression on Sherlock’s face was clearly a smile. John fondled his ear for a minute, with Sherlock leaning into the touch, and then the serval closed his eyes and pushed.

 

For as much lead-up as there had been, the first kitten was brought forward within five minutes. A slick little body tumbled from Sherlock’s, covered in membranes and mewling pitifully. Sherlock gnawed at the pink umbilical cord until he had severed it, and then licked the mewling kitten all over, stimulating the little being to breathe and wiggle and walk. John took pictures through teary eyes, wanting to capture the birth of their children even if it was potentially the most unconventional birth he’d ever witnessed.

 

Sherlock looked at their kitten proudly as it wobbled blindly through the box. Sherlock had eaten the placenta after he’d severed the umbilical cord and licked the kitten clean, effectively erasing any evidence of its birth.

 

The kitten’s fur was drying rapidly, and it looked as pitch black as Sherlock’s own fur was. It was hard to believe that this kitten had any of John’s genetics at all, but he supposed Sherlock didn’t look an ounce human when he was in serval form anyway. His heart beat a little faster at the idea that, in a few months, their kittens would learn to switch forms like Sherlock, and he’d get to see what their children looked like. Sherlock seemed to catch on just as John did, and gave another catlike smile. He let John scratch his ear again, purring at the murmured praise John gave him.

 

John almost forgot there were more kittens to come. Sherlock got up from his position and started moving around again, licking his vulva and curling up and straining once more. Within a quarter hour John saw their second kitten’s head crown, followed almost immediately by the rest of its wet body. Like its older sibling, this kitten was stumbling and mewling around the box, bumping into Sherlock’s legs and its older sibling blindly as Sherlock licked it clean and severed the cord.

 

John hesitated for a minute before reaching toward the box. Sherlock’s head shot up to stare at John’s hands, then his face, and John waited for Sherlock’s permission. The serval slowly lowered his head and nudged their firstborn toward John, blinking at the human.

 

Heart pounding, John reached in and picked up the kitten. It mewled and moved its front legs, searching for something to hold onto, so John held it close to his chest as quickly as possible. Sherlock was still watching warily, but was licking the second kitten clean. John stroked the downy-soft fur on the first kitten, fresh tears rising to his eyes as the newborn mewled. “It’s okay, little one,” he murmured. “Papa’s got you.”

 

Sherlock made a low rumbling noise and John looked up. Sherlock was staring at the kitten John held, nodding toward it. John made as if to put it back and Sherlock shook his head and nodded at it again. John caught on and quickly peered between the kitten’s back legs. “Girl,” he said, cradling the kitten close. Sherlock blinked slowly, nodded his head, and kept licking their newest kitten.

 

Eventually, John set their firstborn down in the box and, with Sherlock’s permission, picked the second one up. It seemed equally lost in the arms of a human, but went quiet when John held it close and kept it warm. Sherlock repeated his pantomime and John obliged. “Another girl,” he said, and Sherlock nodded. The cat seemed tired but proud, and John was proud of him.

 

Soon, both kittens were dry and nursing from Sherlock. John, fascinated, watched the little family. His brow furrowed when Sherlock stood up again, disrupting the kitten’s nursing. “Bit rude,” he said, and Sherlock shot him a glare.

 

John didn’t understand until Sherlock laid back down again and lifted his rear leg. He inhaled sharply when he saw a third kitten breaching Sherlock’s body. Instead of tumbling free like the first two, this one seemed to be coming rear feet first, and Sherlock strained for a few minutes, getting up and pushing and shifting positions. The kitten’s feet never emerged any further, and John grew worried.

 

Sherlock yowled and strained again, then collapsed back against the box. John’s heart went cold. “Are you okay? Is it going to come?” he asked, unsure of what to do. Sherlock twisted, pushed fruitlessly, and let out another yowl before looking to John and nodding toward the yet unborn kitten. John got to his knees immediately and leaned into the box, gripping impossibly fragile rear legs between his thumbs and forefingers. “Push, Sherlock, and I’ll help you.”

 

The serval strained, and John pulled. The little body emerged bit by bit, but John was afraid to pull too hard in case he hurt the kitten. Finally, with a gargantuan heave from the big cat, the third kitten came free, waving its front feet. John helped clear the membrane from its face so the little thing could breathe, and let out a relieved laugh when the little kitten gave a quiet mew.

 

Sherlock let out a low rumble, a thanks, and set to work severing the umbilical cord for their third kitten. Soon enough, the newest kitten was stumbling around the box just like its older sisters as Sherlock ate the placenta.

 

“Is that the last one?” John asked, and Sherlock’s ears flicked. He gave an experimental push, then nodded and flicked his tail in affirmation. That was it, then - after all that waiting, their kittens were all here and all healthy.

 

Their third kitten was a boy, and by no means the runt of the litter. Each kitten seemed to weigh just over half a pound, with the boy kitten perhaps a little bigger than his older sisters. All three kittens were nursing from Sherlock, making contented little grunts. Sherlock allowed John to pet and stroke him, appreciating the attention after all his hard work.

 

As John rose to get Sherlock something to eat, a big, warm paw on his arm stopped him. He turned back around to face the black cat, meeting the serval’s gaze. Sherlock extended his neck to nuzzle at John’s cheek, licking the stubble on his jaw with his rough tongue. “You’ve been eating placentas with that mouth,” John chastised, but gave the serval a thorough scratching anyway. Sherlock let out a deep yowl, looking John in the eyes and giving him that strange smile-like expression again. John caressed a soft ear. “I love you too.”

 

————

 

Four months later, John came home from work. He stepped through the door to the sitting room and stopped short. There was a voice he hadn’t heard in five months, and a figure he hadn’t seen in as long, sitting on the sofa, petting three active kittens that ran over his lap.

 

Sherlock turned to John, smiling broadly. Tears came to John’s eyes and he dropped the groceries he was carrying, bounding across the living room. Sherlock shooed the kittens from his lap gently and rose just in time to open his arms for a hug from John. The doctor was shaking with repressed sobs as he ran his fingers through hair he hadn’t felt in five months, felt warm, strong arms he hadn’t felt in five months, touched skin he hadn’t touched in five months. “I missed you so much,” he said brokenly, burying his face in Sherlock’s neck.

 

Warm tears wetted John’s hair, and he felt the rumbling of Sherlock’s chest before he heard his voice, that voice he’d missed almost more than the man himself. “I missed you too,” Sherlock replied, and John’s sobs grew stronger. “Alice turned today, just for a few minutes. She seemed confused to be a human, and turned back as soon as she could figure out how. She looked just like you, John. Just like you.”

 

“Do you hate the names?” John asked, pulling back and swiping tears from his eyes. “I’m sorry if you do, we can change them. I wanted to find something that fit, but I couldn’t really get your input.”

 

“They’re perfect,” Sherlock said, swiping at his own tears. He shook his head. “No, I love them. They’re perfect.”

 

John couldn’t let go of his mate, couldn’t tear his eyes away from his lover even as their children wrapped around their legs and yowled for attention. “You’re going to stay like this now?” he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

 

“I can change back and forth now, if I need to. They’re eating enough solid foods, they don’t need my milk all the time. And I can teach Faith and Calvin how to change, too. If Alice has figured it out, they won’t be far behind.” Sherlock ran his hands up and down John’s upper arms, seemingly unable to keep his hands off John too.

 

“What do they look like?” John asked. “Babies, or toddlers? I - I have no idea what to expect,” he admitted.

 

“Why don’t we see if we can get Alice to try again?” Sherlock suggested, bending down to pick up the green-collared kitten. The young cat purred and rubbed her head against Sherlock’s jaw.

 

John leant over and scooped Calvin and Faith up, earning happy purrs from both kittens. “Come on, beautiful kittens. Let’s see whether you’re beautiful like your daddy or if you got more of papa’s genes,” he crooned, smiling as Calvin climbed up onto his shoulders. “Silly kittens.” John scratched the red-collared cat and followed Sherlock into the living room, his heart full to bursting. Sherlock reached out for his hand and held it tight, their fingers linked together, a promise.


End file.
